


A Sixth King

by FrigginTimeTravelMan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Jon Snow is King-Beyond-the-Wall, Jon Snow is a Targaryen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrigginTimeTravelMan/pseuds/FrigginTimeTravelMan
Summary: When King Robert arrives in Winterfell, Jon Snow has been at the Wall for three years. He's Lord Commander and secretly hailed as the King-Beyond-the-Wall by the Free Folk.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 124





	A Sixth King

Jon Arryn had never thought that Robert would make a "great" king. The boy he had fostered was too rash, too temperamental, and all too willing to indulge himself in his vices. Still, he was a better choice than a Targaryen. _What was that saying? Whenever a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin,_ he thought, knocking on the door to Robert's solar.

"Who is it!" the King's voice boomed. There was a smacking sound, and Jon heard a feminine giggle. He sighed, of course, Robert had company. When didn't he?

"It's Jon, your grace." He replied. Robert's permission to enter was immediate.

Jon opened the door. Sitting behind his desk, the huge man who was King looked nothing like the man who had led the rebellion against the Mad King. The Lord of Storm's End had been clean-shaven, clear-eyed, and muscled like a maiden's fantasy. Six and a half feet tall, he towered over lesser men, and when donned his armor and the great antlered helmet of his House, he became a veritable giant. He'd had a giant's strength too, his weapon of choice a spiked iron Warhammer that Jon couldn't lift. In those days, the smell of leather and blood clung to him like perfume.

Now it was perfume that clung to him like perfume, and he had a girth to match his height. A beard coarse and black as iron wire covered his jaw to hide his double chin and the sag of royal jowls, but nothing could hide his stomach or the dark circles under his eyes. Not even the naked woman in his lap.

Yet Robert was Jon's King now, and not his ward, so he said only, "Your grace, a message from the Night's Watch."

By then, the woman was dismounting, and Robert grumbled, adjusting his robe. No sooner had she left the room, the King was reaching for his wine.

"The Night's Watch, what do they want? More men? More food? More everything?" Robert complained as he drank. "It's all they ever do. Ask for handouts."

"Not so much in the past years," Jon said. "Mance Rayder has been keeping them busy; it seems."

Robert snorted. "Rayder's a fool. Ned would have that army of wildings broken before I had time to call the banners!" The King laughed happily.

"As you say, your grace." Jon agreed. "However, the matter of the letter-"

"Get on with it then," Robert muttered sourly, but he set his goblet down. "And if I hear 'Your Grace' once more, I'll have your head on a spike. We are more to each other than that."

His smile was a flash of white teeth in the thicket of his huge black beard. Jon sighed. "Of course, Robert. Now, the new Lord Commander is requesting, as you said, more everything. Weapons. Armor. Ships. Men. Coin."

"I get it," Robert said brusquely. "What else?"

"They also request that no-one not taking the black journey to the Wall. There has been discontent within the ranks when the sworn brothers see others living the lives they forfeited." Jon said. The Hand didn't know how he felt about that last bit.

It sounded right. Other than the occasional second or third northern son, the Wall was manned by the scum of Westeros. Killers, rapists, and thieves. Men who had no business living in the Seven Kingdoms. However, completely isolating themselves would gain the Night's Watch no favors. It would make the Lords even less likely to send aid. And who would deliver said aid if no one not taking the black was outlawed from visiting the Wall?

"A new Lord Commander, yet there's nothing new about him," Robert said. "Still begging for help like every Lord Commander before him."

"Your Grace, the letter also says the watch suffered greatly when Mance's army attacked Castle Black. Lord Commander Snow managed to halt the wildings' advance, but-"

"Snow?" Robert shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Not Ned's bastard, Jon Snow?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Jon said. "The watch elected him the 998th Lord Commander."

Robert turned a strange shade of red. Jon noticed his eyes dart to the floor, then around the room. It was the same look the King got when he was a boy in the Vale and had done something to offend Ned.

"Give your namesake whatever it is he's asked for," Robert said. Then he paused. "No, double it."

"Your Grace, the crown doesn't have the resources," Jon argued. "We'd have to ask the other Lords to make contributions."

Robert scarcely seemed to hear him. "I'm not asking!" He slammed a hand down on his desk, splintering the wood. "I won't have any son of Ned Stark begging for scraps like a dog. I want every Lord, lady...whatever south of the Neck making a contribution. And make sure they know that it's an order, not a request."

"Your Grace, we-"

"If they don't. I'll show them the Fury of the Stag." Robert muttered, filling his goblet until it was near overflowing. "I could use a good fight."

Jon knew better than to defy him. Robert had been looking for a way to regain Ned's trust for years. The Greyjoy Rebellion brought them closer, but there was still a divide. Three bodies separated Robert and Ned. Jon couldn't blame Ned. Even he had been shocked at the casual dismissal of the murders of Lady Elia and Rhaegar's children.

"I will see it done, Your Grace."

Robert groaned. "For the last time, I will hear no more 'Your Grace' from you, Jon."

Jon bowed his head and retreated from the room. He should not have mentioned the Lord Commander's name. It was a foolish mistake. Robert was never the most rational man, but when it came to Targaryen's and Stark's, it was as if all sense left him.

"Lord Hand." Jon sighed as the plump eunuch, Lord Varys appeared.

The Master of Whispers was always there, even when he wasn't. Gods, how he hated the snake-pit that was King's Landing.

"Lord Varys, assemble the Small Council. We have important matters to discuss."

"My Lord." Varys bowed at the waist and was gone a moment later.

For a moment, Jon did not follow. He had no wish to spend the rest of his day squabbling with the Small Council. None would like Robert's decree. Yet none could refuse. They would argue, shout, and whine, but Robert Baratheon was King, and in the end, they would obey.


End file.
